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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Wirra," he murmured presently, "but 'tis a terrible thing to hit an unsuspectin' man wit' a monkey wrench! An' that divil von Staden, for all his faults, is not a bad lad at all at all. An' I'd give five dollars yes, seven an' a half if he were bald an' shiny on any other shpot save an' exceptin' the shpot I have to hit him. Ochone!
"An' how's it goin' to be?" he asked, breaking off; "an' if 'tis by Shamus O'Neil's blunderbust that he's fumblin' yondther, will I stand afore or ahint ut? for 'tis fatal both ends, I'm thinkin', like Barney Sullivan's mule. Wirra, wirra! May our souls find mercy, Shamus O'Neil, for we'll both, be wantin' ut this day.
And the grand little pitaty-cake I had for him; I may be throwin' it to the hins now, unless Molly might fancy a bit; for we 'll not be apt to set eyes on him this three year. Och, wirra! and he that contint at home, and niver a word out of him about the souldierin' this long while.
"Sure, I thought I'd let you sleep as late as ever you liked," she said, "for there's no school to-day, but you're awake and clacking, so how would you like to go with your Dada to the bog to cut turf? Himself will put a bit of bread in his pocket for you, and you can take a sup of milk along." "Oh, wirra!" cried Eileen. "What have we done but left the milk-jug at Grannie Malone's!"
What does he think I'll do?" "Don't I know very well what you're after, what you're always after too? Oh, wirra, wirra!" Here he wrung his hands, and swayed himself backwards and forwards, a true picture of Irish grief.
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